


Everything

by ashisfriendly



Series: Dust to Dust [1]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, F/M, Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assassin AU || Leslie follows a path she never imagined after her internship at the White House and the feelings that she has buried are starting to become explosive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [c00kie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/c00kie/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a long fic with so much INTRIGUE and STUFF but I just don't have the time to make it what it really _should_ be. So here is some back story I wrote a long time ago with some VERY QUICK CATCH UP AND SMUT. Enjoy. :)

During her summer break between junior and senior year of college, Leslie Knope was an intern at the White House.

She was the first to arrive on the first day of the program, introducing herself with confidence to the head of the program, Jason Quiroz. She asked questions throughout the day, she knew everyone’s names by lunch time, and made sure to keep her chin up when anyone talked down to her. Her mother told her not to let anyone boss her around who wasn’t allowed to. Leslie sat closest to the front when there was a short security presentation. She asked questions that no one else wanted to (“Yes, but not everyone looks suspicious, so what do we do then?”), and over lunch she described details of the architecture, the furniture, and the art to anyone who would listen. Mr. Quiroz knew her by name and the others were calling her things like “you” and “miss.”

Leslie worked in the events department. She stood around at parties and galas and helped catering with anything they might need. On a rare occasion she worked coat check and got to have one on one time with powerful people and if her name and college major came out in the midst of exchanging a ticket for a coat, so be it. Before or after her shifts she would ask Mr. Quiroz if she could sit in on a meeting or follow a tour or make in house deliveries but his answer was always no.

So she made herself more important in her own department. After thirty minutes at coat check, she asked Sam, an intern who had was obviously related to someone and in no way got here on his own merit, to take over for her. He smiled at her and said he shouldn’t but she leaned over the counter and pushed her breasts together and he did it. Another tip from her mother.

That’s how she got to know a few members of the secret service. They were the most important staff at these gatherings, the ones trusted with everyone’s lives. They were secret heroes and she was a secret goldmine that was shoved into events. Leslie asked too many questions and a lot of them shrugged her off as an overzealous kid who wasn’t worth their time. But Agent Swanson wasn’t one of them.

Agent Swanson nodded when she introduced herself and snickered under his large mustache at her joke about Lincoln’s bedroom and soon he was telling her exactly what he was looking for and how his eyes shifted across the room. He told her where he was from and she told him she was from Pawnee. He called her Ms. Knope like she was a respectable adult. She plagued him with questions and he answered the ones he could and scoffed with a shake of his head when he heard a question he thought no one should ever ask. One night, in the middle of July, she told him she wanted to be the first female President. He said, “That’s a shame, we could use you in the service.”

It made her heart light and her stomach flip but she shrugged it off, going back to coat check like she was supposed to. But things changed after that.

Now, when she asked Mr. Quiroz if she could make deliveries he said yes, when she wanted to walk with a tour, he told her sure. Her first trip alone around the White House felt amazing, freeing, like she was finally doing what she was sent here to do. She started to collect everyone’s names: assistants, janitorial staff, photographers. But she couldn’t help hearing Agent Swanson’s voice in her head as she walked through, as she surveyed a tour group, as she saw people enter and exit doors. Leslie felt so alert, always looking at how people held their hands, how they looked at her, if they smiled or not. It distracted her from adding tidbits to the tours after she begged and begged one tour guide to let her speak.

Leslie did this at restaurants, clubs, while she walked around the DC parks. Safety and people watching became just as important as knowledge of the executive branch and the intricacies of passing bills and amendments. Every room she entered was uncovered in two minutes (“You should know your surroundings in thirty seconds, and refresh them every thirty seconds afterward.”) and it bugged her that she wasn’t faster.

In August, Agent Swanson pulled her aside at a gala that was benefiting the nation’s educational system. President Clinton was there and so was the First Lady and Leslie found herself entranced by them, blindly watching them flow through the crowd while she stood by the refreshments table.

“Do you see that guy in the brown coat, red tie?” Agent Swanson’s voice was rushed and gravely. Leslie squinted into the crowd and he nudged her. “Not so obvious, Ms. Knope.”

Leslie blinked and looked around the room. She saw him, categorizing his appearance and mannerisms quickly. He looked toward her but only at the drinks before turning his attention back to someone he was talking to. Leslie watched him move, carefully taking his hands into account, seeing if his coat looked bulkier but there was no way to tell, really. It was definitely a size too big.

“Yes,” Leslie said.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and she felt shiver after shiver go down her spine. But something was also happening in her gut, nerves and adrenaline. It made her fingers shake and she gripped the bottom of her blazer to steady them. She kept watching him, looking for anything and everything he may be doing that he shouldn’t be. She calculated the possibilities. What if he had a gun? Or explosives? Who was he, how did he get in here?

Agent Swanson grabbed her elbow and squeezed before clasping his hands behind his back.

“Did you sweep the room at all? It’s been five minutes.”

Leslie blinked. “No, I was watching that guy.”

“That guy is an assistant to Clinton’s speech writer. His name is Bob Lukon, he isn’t a threat.” Agent Swanson kept his eyes forward, scanning the room. He never looked at Leslie. “I was seeing if you could remember everything else while zeroing in.”

The anger pushed on her chest. This was some stupid trick. She wasn’t training to be a Secret Service agent, she was here to learn to become a leader and to someday get into office because of this internship. She had no duty to Agent Swanson. But her mistake, her forgetfulness still inexplicably clawed at her stomach and she wanted to kick herself for not knowing that this guy worked in the building, that he wasn’t a threat this entire time.

“Your internship is over in two weeks. I hear it’s the worst part.” His casual tone made her even more annoyed.

“I’m not training to be an agent.”

He smiled, finally looking at her. “Nope, you’re just an intern, right?”

“I’m more than that.”

Agent Swanson nodded. “Yes, yes you are.”

//

Leslie spent the week before the fall semester of her senior year in Pawnee. She hung out in her mom’s office and told her all about her time in DC. She neglected her new found knowledge of security and her only real friend from the summer. Her mom was happy for her, glad that she had the experience, but she was also busy. Leslie spent a lot of her time just wandering the halls, eating lunch and sipping coffee by the wildflower mural on the second floor, and asking various departments if they needed help. She did a lot of work in the Parks department and she liked the company of the employees, and she tried to picture herself there. Pawnee was her favorite place in the world, and her heart in government was in the people it served, and what closer way could she be to the people than the Parks department in the beautiful city of Pawnee, Indiana?

So she applied during the last month of her senior year, as an assistant to the director, and was offered the position the next week. Leslie held a bounce in her step through finals, smiled like a crazy person during graduation, and put a picture of herself and her mother on her desk on her first day of work.

By the second week, everyone directed citizen concerns to Leslie, who could find a solution quicker and happier than anyone else. She got a raise on her third month. On her six month anniversary, she took herself to JJ’s for lunch and ordered two waffles with extra strawberries and extra whipped cream. She cut into the golden, crispy waffle and shoved it into her mouth, quickly shoveling a strawberry wedge and glob of whipped cream after it. Leslie savored every flavor in celebration of herself. She closed her eyes and chewed, relishing in this perfect moment. She just wanted to remember every detail about how perfect her life was right now.

The rubber of the seat across from her squeaked. She opened her eyes and coughed at the sight of him. He was wearing dark green polo and his mustache was as thick as ever. She grabbed her water and sipped it, trying to ease the food down her throat. Agent Swanson smiled.

“Hello Ms. Knope,” he said simply, as if this was normal.

“Agent Swanson, hi. What are you doing here?”

“Please, call me Ron.” He put up his finger and Sally came over. “Three orders of bacon and five orders of eggs.” She nodded and walked back to the kitchen. “How are you?”

“How did you... what are you--”

“It’s not hard to track down a former intern.” Ron cleared his throat. “You didn’t apply for any jobs in DC.”

“I love Pawnee.”

“So where do you work?”

“You don’t know?”

“I do, you are an assistant in the Parks department.” Ron tapped his fingers on the table. “You’re qualified for more.”

“I love Pawnee.”

“I understand.”

Sally returned with Ron’s food and he dug in.

Talking to Ron was different now. He didn’t constantly look around the room, but his eyes stayed on her or the table or on his food. His words were calm and even like before but they felt a bit lighter.

“I was promoted.” He said, mouth full of bacon.

“Do you only speak in short sentences?”

“Don’t sass me.” He took another bite. “Anyway, I was promoted, finally. Actually I was given some choices about what kind of promotion I qualified for.” He waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I came here to offer you a job.”

“You could have called me.”

“It’d be easier for you to say no that way.”

Leslie gestured for him to keep going.

“You would be... like my assistant.” His lip twitched as if he already heard the irony in his statement.

“I’m already an assistant. I like my job, I love Pawnee, my family is here, my whole life is here. I will not uproot my life just so I can be your assistant.” She grabbed her utensils and started eating. “I know I could do more but I am just working my way through the department, then I may be city manager, who knows, maybe I will be on the city council or mayor.” Her words were muffled through bites of waffle. “Being mayor is great, a lot of great people were once mayors--”

“Ms. Knope--”

“Jerry Springer was mayor. Also I will make a difference here and--”

“Ms. Knope,” Ron said again. Leslie stopped and took a breath. “How many exits in this building?”

“Four.”

He smiled. “What is the guy in the last booth wearing?”

“A black button up shirt and a blue tie.” Leslie didn’t remember taking this all in but she knew she was right.

“How many exits in City Hall?”

“Ten go outside but only six lead to the street.”

Ron leaned back, finishing the last of his food. His fork clinked on his plate and Leslie put down her fork to eat another bite of her waffle but she had wiped both plates clean. Without the distraction of the golden, flaky delicious waffles, she could feel the smile from Ron on her skin. He was testing her for something, feeling her out for some opportunity that she didn’t want. He needed to stop looking at her like that and he also needed to leave, promptly.

“Look, Age--Ron, I don’t want to move to DC just to be your assistant. I don’t want to be an agent, I want to be President.”

“You’re passionate, you’re thorough, you’re driven. Interns never give a shit about the secret service and--”

“I only cared because I was in crappy events where I didn’t do anything.”

“You are naturally good at it.” He looked at his mug and then back at her. “Come down for a week. You have vacation time, right?” She slowly nodded. “Work for me for a week. I will pay you and I will pay for your hotel.”

She wanted to go back to DC ever since her internship. She didn’t get to look at enough of the sights and there was so much more to do and it wasn’t the awful humid summer yet. And more than anything she was very curious about what it would be like to work for the Secret Service and a week of double pay and a free hotel room could be the best way to find out.

“Fine, I’ll come for a week.”

“Good girl.”

**// Fifteen Years Later \\\**

“You have him, invite him up.”

Leslie dipped her chin and turned her head one small pivot to the right, sliding her index finger around the rim of her wine glass.

Richard Flax, head hunter, terrorist, murderer of children, wasn’t ready. Ben cursed in her ear and Leslie just let her hand fall to the table, lightly tapping her nail across the wood.

“So Richard, tell me more about your house in the Hamptons. It sounds beautiful.”

Richard sat back, holding his hand out lazily to display the imagery of his expansive home. Leslie watched the trail of his eyes go down her chest and over her arms. She lined anything she could on the table, delicately placing her fingers over napkins, along the stem of a fork or spoon. He talked about his huge master bedroom and his prized artworks and deep jacuzzi tubs. Leslie fingered the curls of her hair and extended and flexed her ankle, elongating her foot. Richard caught every move but his eyes weren’t glossed enough, his words didn’t slip in an alcohol induced slur.

She was right, he wasn’t ready.

Learning body language was the hardest part for Leslie. She studied and messed up and had to recover so many times in the last 15 years. It was never a perfect science and she was never a very patient person and it all blended in a disastrous cocktail of mistakes and rescues from Ron.

She was detailed and determined, passionate and goal oriented and those things kept her in this job, those things made her good, damn good, and that’s why she was here. That’s why Ron retired confidently, and that was why Ben was in her ear.

Her flirting formulas were still shaky. They always would be, but she sensed when a man was ready. She knew when a man of such rich power was ready to throw caution to the wind and invite an unknown woman to his room. She fucked up too much, jumped the gun too many times to not know better.

“Wow,” she purred, “does the tub fit two?”

Richard grabbed his drink and turned the liquid before taking a sip. He narrowed his eyes over the glass and nodded as he gulped.

“Go, Leslie,” Ben hissed.

She rubbed the line of her collarbone and closed her eyes, letting her frustration wash over her in a quick beat.

Fine, if Ben wanted to get things moving, she could do that. Let all of this blow up in his face. If they failed, she would just eat a box of chocolates in her hotel room tonight.

So she asked him to invite her up and Richard, surprisingly, agreed. He licked his dry, thin lips and sat back, blatantly taking her in as if she were a piece of expensive furniture made of meat.

It wasn’t so hard to kill them after they looked at her like that.

“I don’t want to say I told you so.” Ben sighed in her ear. “Actually it will drive me crazy if I don’t. I told you so.”

Richard helped her with her coat and slipped his hand around her waist, grabbing her ass on the way to her hip. Leslie sinked into his side and gripped her clutch close to her hip. They walked across the floor, between tables, and dodging waiters. Ben didn’t look up from his delicious looking chocolate mousse as they passed him.

“It’s delicious.” She heard the smile in Ben’s voice. She wanted to strangle him.

A man was following them out, presumably the man who was responsible for Richard’s safety. Definitely the man Ben would have to kill.

The elevator was quiet and despite Richard’s right hand man being in the tight space with them, he ravished her. His lips were rough and sloppy along her neck and across her shoulder. His hands were on her legs, over her stomach, sliding over her hips.

The door opened before he made it to her lips. The hallway was small, the walls bare except for two doors. Richard’s guard opened the door on their left.

The room was huge and breathtaking. It was already lit, speckled with modern lamps that give it a soft glow. The kitchen area was clean and fresh, lined with stainless steel and a flashy backsplash of grey and black. There were double doors that led to the bedroom, open wide and inviting. She saw a big tub, right under the window that let the New York skyline seep into the room like an extravagant piece of art.

“Hannah, you don’t mind if Max is here, right?” Richard discarded his coat and undid his cufflinks.

Crap on a cracker. Too soon. She was right.

“What did he say?” Ben asked, his voice catching like he was moving.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m so shy,” Leslie cooed.

She snuggled into her coat, lifting the collar over her cheek. She popped her hip and bent her knee, hoping her legs were enough to make Richard forget.

He examined her, not in the sloppy drunken way she wanted him to, but in a more calculated, cold stare.

Leslie’s heart started pumping and soon she would be sweating. Her cheeks may already be flushed and the anger at her own mistake, at her misjudgment was seeping into her eyes.

“I’m sorry honey, he has to stay. You understand,” Richard said.

He walked up to her and she tried to catch something in his movements or along his face but he still seemed like he wanted her, so she tried to calm her breathing. He was on to her now, he was going to study her closely. He could notice the hold she had on her clutch or felt the fake note in her kiss.

Her heart needed to stop beating. She was calm, but her body often betrayed her.

“But I only want you to see me.” Leslie pouted, her lip plumped out of her mouth.

He smelled like alcohol and cigars and his teeth were too big for his mouth but if he was going to kiss her, she had to let him.

He did, pushing his body into hers and guiding them to the bedroom. Leslie dropped her clutch on the bed, within her reach as he pushed her onto the mattress. His mouth was dominating and terrible but she let him take her, let him slide her jacket off, let her shoes fall the the ground, and let his scratchy fingers pull on the zipper of her dress.

“You look so good, but I bet you’re one of those naughty girls, huh?”

Before she could respond, Ben did.

“Gross.”

Leslie agreed with Ben, this man was disgusting and every second she had his body over hers was actual torture. He slid his hands up her thighs, playing with the hem of her dress and kissed over her chest. His hair smelled like the bottom of an ashtray in a Thai restaurant.

“I hope Max isn’t peeking,” Leslie giggled.

Richard only growled in response but it didn’t matter, that wasn’t for Richard.

Ben whispered in her ear, “I’m coming.”

Richard gripped her hip, steadying her and pushing her deep into the mattress. Men controlled her, kept her secure in their grasp, but she always knew how to get out. That knowledge was the only thing that didn’t make her dream of these monsters at night.

A knock on the door made him stop. He rose slowly, his eyes locked on her. Leslie pouted again, twisting her body.

“Let Max get it.”

“Hold on, baby.” Richard turned around. “Stay here.”

He stepped out of the room and Leslie jumped from the bed, adjusting and zipping her dress. She tiptoed to her bag and took out her gun, screwing on the silencer.

Her hands were shaking. She hadn’t fucked up this bad in years. Ben never came to her rescue, Ron used to but that was different. He was her mentor, he got her into this business, he made her a fighter for the government in a way that she never thought possible. Ben wasn’t allowed to save her.

It made her furious that she needed him.

“6’2”,” Leslie whispered.

Leslie rounded the corner, her back to the wall. Richard stood behind the white leather sofa, waiting for Max to open the door. Max’s gun was out, resting against his leg in his hand.

Max opened the door and there was Ben, his gloved hand pulling the trigger of his gun, aimed right at Max’s head. The bullet spliced through his skull. Ben caught Max’s body, closed the door, and Leslie pounced on Richard.

She held his throat with her arm, squeezing. He thrashed and whipped her around, her back hitting the corner of the couch’s arm rest. Leslie didn’t want to suffocate him, it wouldn’t work for the aftermath, but he was strong and she was running out of options.

Ben rounded the couch and grabbed Richard’s arm.

“No!” she yelled. “I’ve got him.”

“Come on—“

“I do.”

She was being stupid and stubborn but she didn’t need him to rescue her. Leslie looked around the room, Richard’s body finally starting to ease under her grip.

“Is that where he stays?” she asked, panting.

“Yes.”

“So where should he go?” Leslie dragged Richard from behind the coach, in line with Max.

“Over there — you know, I can help—“

“No.” Leslie turned and dragged Richard to where Ben was pointing, near the kitchen. “Flax, ease up or I will break your neck.”

“Don’t kill me,” Richard begged between choked breaths.

“After all the people you’ve killed? Children were there, Flax. Unlike you, I’m not a monster, but I am going to kill you.”

Ben looked between the bodies and then his voice floated through the air, like a simple answer to a algebraic formula. “Right temple.”

Leslie shoved Richard to the ground and shot him before he could scream, catching the shell casing with her left hand.

//

“Why are you following me?”

“My room is across from yours.”

“Oh, just because you have the room across from mine, you can follow me? Wow.”

Ben sighed behind her.

Leslie slid her room key into the door and pushed it open.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” Leslie answered, swinging the door closed behind her.

It didn’t click.

Leslie whipped around, her chest burning at the sight of him. He held her door open with his hand and looked at her, his chin dipped and eyes stern like she was being punished. She hated that look.

Anger seeped into her cheeks, rouging them with a frustrated heat. She was quiet during the clean up and she resisted the urge to write anything about his stupidness on her report during the cab ride but now she was boiling over. Her fingers shook as she shrugged off her coat.

“This is my room, Ben.”

“I just want to say I’m so—“

“You misread him.” Leslie threw her coat on the chair.

“I did.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not true—“

“You’re in my ear to tell me what’s happening around me and to support me, not to do my job.”

“His people didn’t trust you, they were zeroing in.”

“Then tell me that!”

Ben ran his hands through his hair.

“You take so long, Leslie.”

“What?”

“You go on too long with these dirtbags. You let them do everything to you, you’re practically engaged by the end of it.”

Men in this field didn’t understand. They either encouraged you to keep going, to go as far as you could, or they scolded you for working this way. They could get away with just schmoozing and drinks and expensive gifts but Leslie, and most women, did this. She seduced men and partied with women. She did whatever she needed to do to get them alone, keep herself safe, and follow through.

“It works.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“How dare you,” Leslie growled. “What—are you judging me by the way I do assignments?” Ben started to speak but she didn’t let him. “This is insane, you’re being sexist, actually. Unfortunately, Benjamin, this is how it works. I—hold on.”

Her blood was on fire. Leslie whipped around and started digging in her suitcase, mumbling about the idiotic, sexist job she had, the dumb men she worked with, and even the lack of whipped cream on her waffle this morning. The hotel said they were out, which is practically an abomination. She would be writing them a strongly worded letter tonight if she could just get this—

“What are you doing?”

“I am looking for my notebook. I have a notebook, Ben, of things to say to asses like you who judge the women in this field. You think because we use our bodies to get the job done that we are gross or sluts and you are going to get years of pent up frustration and elegantly written notes from me.”

“Come on, Leslie, that’s not what I meant. Just leave it alone.” Ben sighed, walking up behind her. He bent down and grabbed her forearm.

She shoved him away and he tightened his hold on her before he let go. He stood up, pushing his hands through his hair, rubbing his scalp with his gloved fingers. She groaned at the suitcase and stood up, kicking it. She turned back to Ben. His hair was a mess, frantic and wild like he just woke up.

In fact, he looked just like that. Like that one time in Los Angeles, he fell asleep in her room watching a Star Wars marathon and when he woke up in the morning, his hair looked just like that. A little flat in the back but a fantastic mess in the front.

“You are so frustrating,” he said.

“Me? You compromised the assignment today, you didn’t trust me, you practically called me a whore, and wont leave me alone.”

Ben started pacing. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then took them out, then put them in again. He looked out of whack, like a robot that was short-circuiting. Ben was a lot like a robot, he calculated how to stage sites without emotion, had no problem calling his partner of two years some kind of scarlet woman, and always moved so straight, so calculated. When he had a few drinks after a hard day and danced at the bar, his moves were static and without rhythm. When they posed as a married couple in Florida, his hand on her shoulder felt so stiff, his swooping touch to the small of her back fell so unceremoniously.

He turned toward the door, his shoulders stiff and high like all of his tension was held there. Like whatever feeling of resentment or frustration he had for her was stuck between his shoulder blades and crawled into his neck. Their relationship was complicated, one that was like fire when they were working and like a warm, cozy electric blanket when they weren’t. Ben yelled at her when she improvised and she yelled at him when he didn’t leave any room to wiggle. But alone, assignments done and the next one on its way, there was a calm.

There were Harry Potter movie marathons. There were rounds and rounds of Uno. There was his head on her shoulder when they woke up after a long night of crossword puzzles and History Channel documentaries. Ben was, in most ways, the only person who heard her question her profession, who knew that this life fell into her lap because she was good at it, she was detailed enough, and cared enough to do it. He was the only one who knew, 15 years ago, she went to the White House with a dream of being President while Ben was escaping his failed mayoral run by joining the Army. She watched Ben cry when he missed his family and he held her hand while she looked through her Pawnee scrapbook.

They only had each other, but God, they were explosive.

Her chest felt empty and her eyes hot with the tears she was fighting. Her friend, one of her only friends, was disregarding her life’s work in a way that was usually reserved for other people. Other men who didn’t understand how she did things, didn’t grasp that this was a woman’s best option, that she was really good at her job.

Not Ben, not Ben wyatt, failed teenage mayor turned beautiful assassin. Best friend and partner.

“It’s just hard to watch,” Ben mumbled.

“I don’t enjoy it, Ben, but a woman can like sex, you know.”

“Good Lord, are you listening at all?”

Ben turned, beaten. His chin hung down, his hair still a disheveled mess. His eyes were desperate for something she had, something she didn’t know she carried. Her anger still swirled in her gut and the hurt clawed at her bones. She wanted to cry and yell and kick his ass all at once but his face rooted her. His stupid, hurt, confused, frustrated face kept her still.

It was too much. All of it was. His words, his face, his body, this job that she loved but also resented, this stupid hotel room, the lack of whipped cream, her tired feet, this stupid dress, the way Ben kept his black, leather gloves on too long, the way his facial hair grew too fast and he already grew stubble from this morning’s shave, the breaths that were hard to take, everything.

“We should fight.” Her voice was rough and low, a plea with a threat.

“What?”

“Remember when we first met and we did our first assignment, that bald hacker?”

“Louis Witmen.”

“How do you remember that? Never mind, the point is, it went badly and I was mad at you and I swung at you.”

Ben gave her a small grin before his eyes fell to the ground.

Leslie continued, “We destroyed that kitchen.”

“We did.”

“But we got along after that. Outside of work anyway.”

“Leslie—“

“Also, I’m very angry and we haven’t sparred in awhile.”

“This wont solve anything.”

“It might.” Leslie took off her jewelry. “Plus, I firmly believe that physical violence is good, especially if the other person is being a jerk.”

“Look, I’m sorry—“

“Too late.” Leslie rolled her neck and grabbed a rubber band from the night stand, piling her hair on top of her head. “Come on, Wyatt, you first.”

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“Oh I think you are.” She turned her palm to the ceiling and waved him to her with her index finger. “Don’t make me call you Mayor.”

His muscles tightened and Leslie grinned. He shook his head.

“Come on, Ben, we’re both trained fighters, it’ll just be fun.”

“But you’re actually angry.”

“And you’re actually frustrated. Let’s go.”

Ben’s eyes fell to the carpet. Leslie counted in her head, she watched his feet snuffle and his fingers flex. He didn’t move for her but he was calculating something. She knew the look: brows furrowed, mouth slightly twisted, jaw set, and muscles tight along his neck. The strain lined the curve of his neck into his shoulders.

“Hit me,” Leslie hissed.

Leslie swallowed. Ben rubbed his face and raked his fingers through his hair, creating a bigger mess of his locks. The impatient trickle dripped down her neck and strained the muscles in her fingers. She straightened and popped her hip. He walked to her, elbow bent, arm back. Leslie inhaled and followed his arm, blocking his punch.

It was a predictable, slow punch with a lack of power. She shoved his arm away and rounded her own punch, grazing his chin. His eyes narrowed as they both breathed, stifled frustration and anger pumping through Leslie’s veins and evaporating into the air. Ben licked his lips and stretched his neck. His teeth rolled along his bottom lip and she could feel his eyes over her, calculating. His brain must be a machine, some type of emotional calculator.

He swung, a real punch this time and Leslie caught it with her elbow and sent her fist to his gut. He took most of it but backed up from her, lessoning the blow. Leslie slipped her hand down his forearm and twisted it, dodging behind him. He was quick, smoother than he ever moved with her before. Maybe he finally wasn’t holding something back. When they fought years ago in a hotel kitchen, he underestimated her and when they sparred things were mellow. This felt different. This was Ben’s own way of fighting his demons.

Men didn’t usually fight like this. Ben was more fluid with lingering moves and eyes that followed through. He caught everything and Leslie kept him at a distance. He was harder to follow than usual. She didn’t doubt her abilities but either Ben was finally fed up or she was distracted.

Leslie slipped her arm from his grasp and stepped back, catching her breath as he adjusted his stance. He let go a series of punches, each one easy to follow and making her step backward with each block. Her back slapped into the wall. Ben swung again and Leslie dodged it, sending her fist to his face, right to his stupid, pointy nose.

He caught her hand and Leslie felt time slow. Her chest tightened and her breaths cut short, each one hard and intense to get through. She wanted this pause to give her a moment to rest, to give her one big breath but it was hard and thinking felt unnatural. His grip loosened and his fingers slid down her hand, over her wrist where they curled. His hands were big, she knew that, but his fingers over her wrist were overwhelming. Ben held her with a soft assurance that made her head light and skin flame.

He put his other hand against the wall and dipped his head down. His body pressed into hers, hips first, then his chest and she inhaled, her insides turning to liquid. Ben swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing and lips pursing.

“Leslie—“

She shook her head and pushed down on his arms, using his limbs as leverage to jump. She kicked his stomach and Ben stumbled backwards. He ran into the desk and the lamp fell over but she didn’t hear it break. She ran to him, pulling her fist back but he grabbed her shoulders, catching her off balance. Ben turned her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He tightened his hold on her wind pipe just enough to startle but not enough to choke her. He smelled like hotel soap and the small hint of his hair product. Woody and fresh, unmistakably Ben.

“Someone’s going to call,” he said, low and with a push of breath.

“Like hotel staff has never been called on us before.”

Ben chuckled. Leslie pulled forward and rolled their bodies onto the bed. He loosened his grip just enough for her to push from him and she bounced to her feet. He tried to grab her ankles but she kicked him hard in the chest. Ben coughed and rolled off the bed, curling his body.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“S’okay.” He coughed again and rolled his shoulders, standing.

Leslie stepped to the edge of the mattress. She pushed the hair that fell from her pony tail from her face and tried to catch her breath. Ben rubbed his chest and turned, his eyes steady on her feet. She bent her knees, ready for his attack but he smoothed one more circle on his chest.

Before this began, she wanted to beat the crap out of Ben, but watching him rub his chest made her stomach dip.

“Are you—“

Ben grabbed her ankles and pulled, sending her arms and hair flying. Leslie landed on her back, her body bouncing in the soft pillows and comforter. Her instinct was to kick but she thought of his chest and it stopped her. Ben held her ankles, his fingers wrapped and strong around the muscle and bone.

He whispered her name but she just stared at the ceiling. Ben’s hands slid up her calves and rounded her leg, his fingers slipping between the meat of her calves and the bed. He moved back down to the ankle where he paused, just gripping for a few breaths.

Leslie’s heart pounded in her chest, through the veins in her arms, and pulsed in the tips of her fingers. She didn’t know what Ben was doing, what he was planning with his grazing fingers, but she let him work. Her anger bubbled but stayed at the surface, each swipe of his hands making it steady like he was taming the wild animal within. She swallowed.

“I’m not a slut.”

“I know,” he said.

Ben pushed his thumbs into the top of her feet, rubbing along the skin until his touch fell from her toes. The bed bent, his knee digging into the mattress as he pulled himself onto it. A hand steadied himself next to her hip and he began to crawl up her body.

“I’m good at my job,” she whispered.

“You’re magnificent.”

Another shift of hands, higher. His head went over her hips, over her stomach, to her chest. Her throat was dry, her mind numb and spinning. She was overwhelmed by his smell, his dark eyes that were scared but steady. Her speech was a cracked breath.

“Then why—“

“I wasn’t lying when I said it was hard to watch.” He shook his head and licked his lips. “It is, but not for the reasons you think.” He let out a shaky breath and placed his forehead against hers.

She could smell the sweet sugar and chocolate from his breath. She could trace the dark, growing hairs on his face, and feel the tension in his brow. His body was sturdy and strong above her but with each breath that passed between them, he let his muscles loosen. Section by section Ben relaxed until his body was flush with hers and she pushed up to him. She wanted to be close to him, like when that body guard in DC shot her in the arm and the only thing that stopped her shaking was Ben’s arms around her.

Her mind flashed.

Ben in DC, holding her with strong arms and patient whispers.

Ben in Texas, trying to work through a puzzle to stage her work so it looked like that woman killed her entire band of thugs and herself.

Ben somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, shirtless and ridding his skin of blood with his shirt.

Ben across the monopoly board, arguing that he could put as many hotels as he wanted on Boardwalk and she would just have to pay up.

Ben in Minnesota, at Christmas, wishing he could see his family while the snow dusted his hair.

Ben in Florida, pretending to be her husband, grazing her cheek with his lips before he excused himself to take care of someone in the hallway.

Ben in multiple hotel rooms, smiling at her with that crooked grin and the gloss of hope in his eyes. Eating room service food and tickling her sides when she was grumpy about losing a game of Hearts.

Ben’s eyes, Ben’s hands, Ben’s mouth, Ben’s face, Ben’s shoulders, Ben’s arms, Ben’s everything.

Ben was everything.

“You’re in love with me,” she said.

He closed his eyes, his nose grazing hers.

His yes came out in a struggled, tight croak. Loving her was his deepest secret, his darkest deceit to himself, her, and their commitment to the United States government.

“Kiss me,” she begged.

“Leslie.”

Kissing Ben meant they couldn’t be partners. This was unethical and jeopardizing and with his lips everything would change again. Ben was supposed to be her constant until she begrudgingly retired. She had five or so years left of being an assassin and possibly ten years after that doing desk and training work, but being in love with Ben — oh my God, she was in love with Ben — would be more earth shattering than Ron’s retirement.

It would change everything.

“Leslie.” He pushed off the mattress and his chest lifted from hers.

Her blood chilled and heart stopped and the emptiness tapping against her bones told her he was worth it.

“No.”

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled.

The world exploded and it dissipated through her skin, down to her core, and pushed back into her lips. Her lips that were on his. Her fingers tightened on his neck, pushed into his hair, gripped the locks to pull him closer. This kiss opened the flood gates, swept them both into a whirlwind of hands and zippers, limbs and clasps. Ben was a detailed assassin, one who thought everything through two or three times and calculated his footsteps and measured angles in his arm before he pulled the trigger. But he unraveled here, an electric mess of desperation.

Ben sat up, their lips separating. She gasped and pushed off the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck to take him again. Her dress caught under her knees but he pulled, the fabric flying between them, over her head and into the void of nothingness that surrounded them. They were together, the world gone and assignments forgotten and the universe collapsed. All there was, was his hands along her skin, his breath in her mouth, the hum in his chest. Just her and Ben and nothing else.

She worked on the buttons of his shirt while he just held her face in his hands, gripping the back of her jaw, tangling his fingers in her locks, gripping her neck as he kissed her. His lips slid over hers in a quick rhythm. His tongue was soft and slow in her mouth, deep and delicate in a way that didn’t match the ferocity in his hands but made her skin buzz. Leslie pushed his shirt off his shoulders and immediately grabbed the bottom of his undershirt and threw it off his body.

Ben sat back on his heels and removed his gloves, finger by finger like they were some kind of prized possession. She groaned and reached for him, only one glove gone. He chuckled in her hair and worked on the other, his hands finally free to feel her.

He grazed her shoulders, kneaded his thumbs into the muscles of her arms. His nails scraped the inside of her elbow, his palms flat and strong along her breast bone, over her collarbone, and over the fabric of her bra. He kissed the crook in her neck and unhooked her bra, and licked her collarbone as it fell between them. Leslie undid his belt and pushed his pants down. She played with the waistband of his underwear. His skin was hot, only dusted with hair below his belly button, smooth around his sharp hips and flat back. She slid her fingers down and teased him but lost herself and took him in her palm with a gentle squeeze.

Ben gasped. His lips fell from hers and his forehead dropped to her shoulder. She twisted her wrist and Ben’s breathing hitched with each move. He kissed her chest and ducked under chin. He trembled as she traced his length. His lips were clumsy over her breasts, his tongue warm across her nipple. Leslie leaned back, giving him space to explore. Her touch slowed until her hand fell to the bed, overwhelmed by his kisses and his lips that sucked her flesh.

She let Ben lean her back on the bed. He pulled off her panties and kissed her previously covered skin. He lingered over her bruises, the scrapes and healed bullet wounds. He hummed over her belly and nipped at her hips and she just squirmed and arched her back. Ben moved down her body, kissing down her left leg to her ankle.

Leslie blinked her eyes open and looked at him.

His pants fell to the floor, his lean body bare and pale and so much more than she imagined. His hip bones stuck out at a harsh angle and his stomach muscles were barely there, just small hints behind his flesh. Everything about his body was taut and strong. Ben bent down and clamped his hands under her knees.

“Come here.”

He pulled her down the mattress, a loud giggle erupting from her chest. He lined her sides with his hands, rounding her hips and massaging her thighs. He kissed around her and lined her opening with his finger. His touch was small and light, just a tease of what she craved. She bucked into his hand and felt the teeth of his smile on her stomach.

Ben’s fingers were big, tracing her and pushing just enough to make her whine for more. He pushed a smooth, slow thrust into her that made her vision vignette and her toes curl. It was a small tease, his fingers pulling out and gripping her legs quick. She punched the mattress and called out his name but he just flipped her over, her face smashing into the sheets.

He ran his fingers over her ass, up her back, and down again. He steadied her thighs and pulled up her hips. She was exposed, knees digging into the mattress and ass in the air but Ben hummed and groaned as his hands moved over her enough to feel his desire in her own muscles. He traced her spine, her back bending. She arched into his touch and bent down again, letting his fingers guide her. She melted into the mattress as her muscles relaxed.

The mattress moved under his weight and his hands stayed still on her thighs. He gripped her, pulling her to him and when his lips met her, there were only stars.

Leslie tightened her fingers into the sheets and held on as he explored her with his mouth. He lapped at her with long, hard swipes of his tongue. He whispered her name into her and it vibrated into her chest. She moaned and screamed curses tangled with his name. He sent flames over her in waves. He swirled his tongue on her clit and her back arched to get him closer. He lined her opening and his moans were never ending. She trembled and struggled to catch her breath.

Ben pushed his face against her and moved a hand to her ass and fucked her with his tongue with quick, deep thrusts. She dug her face into the mattress and screamed. She let everything out, let his name push back from the sheets and let her curses turn her throat raw. He made her build with a solid fluidity that snuck up on her.

He curled his tongue inside of her before slipping to her clit. She shook and bucked into him as she came, riding hist ace through each aftershock.

Leslie flattened her body and just felt each breath roll through her. Ben stood back from her and she heard him rustle with sheets and pad through the room. She nudged her body over, turning to her back. The hotel room was sticky and hot but the air still felt fresh on her chest. Ben looked down at her, sweat rolling down his neck and a shine on his lips. He crawled over to her and kissed her, deeply and thoroughly until it was impossible to breathe.

He pulled back and sat in the middle of the bed and pulled her into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. He was hard against her, so close that it made her fingers slip on his skin. She held onto his neck and pushed her forehead against his. His fingers pressed into her waist and his breaths were deep and long, steadying.

“You’re on the pill.”

Leslie smiled and kissed him. “I am.”

“I saw them once.”

“It’s just birth control, I’m not hiding it.”

He swallowed and moved his hips. “I’m clean.”

“You wouldn’t put me in danger, Agent Wyatt.”

“Never.”

He pulled down on her hips and she gasped at the stretch.

He smiled with an extended exhale. She tightened her hold around his neck and nuzzled into his neck, relishing in every point of contact. Thighs to thighs, hips to hips, stomachs and chests flush. She puckered her lips on his skin and rolled her hips.

She held his back, gripped his neck, and tangled her hands in his hair as they moved. His skin was hot and slick with sweat. He gripped her and groaned into her hair. They didn’t lose an inch of contact, their hands strong and sturdy on each other. Leslie bounced in his lap, her nipples rubbing on his chest in sensitive friction.

Leslie was building again, the heat lingering from his tongue. Her clit hit where their bodies met over and over and his dick pushed deep into her with a delicious buzz. She bit his shoulder and breathed onto his neck, she moaned curses and tried to form sentences to encourage him but they fell flat. His fingers dug into the flesh of her ass and his teeth grazed the soft skin of her earlobe.

She pulled away from him creating a new angle inside of her. Her body bounced and his his hands guided her into each thrust. His brows were furrowed again, calculating and everything she knew and ultimately loved about Ben Wyatt. His teeth rolled along his lip and his eyes flicked over her face and down her body. She pushed harder and his mouth fell open and his eyes closed tight and her name slipped out of his mouth like a heavy plea.

Leslie rode him, put her all into him and watched him come undone. He became a mumbling, groaning, screaming mess and each stretch and contraction of muscle made her move faster. Her breasts bounced and with each stolen glance at where their bodies joined, she groaned.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

She sped up.

Ben held on to her hips, possibly bruising her but it only egged her on. She was climbing and he was practically there and every touch and roll of his tongue was too much. He hit a spot inside her over and over in a wonderful rhythm. He slid his hands across her lower back and gripped, bringing their bodies close again in a soft smack. She gasped, everything changing and climbing rapidly. She held his shoulders and fell into his neck and Ben buried his face in her hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, right in her ear, right where he always was and where he belonged.

Her nails dug into his skin and she came, her muscles tightening all over him. She whimpered into his chest and gently rocked on top of him. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, her eyelids. She inhaled, her eyes droopy, and on the exhale felt him gently push her back onto the mattress. He stayed back on his knees, his eyes glossed and loving over her body. He pulled on her hips and slipped inside, both of them gasping.

He adjusted, moving closer and pulling her near and held her hips while he thrust into her. Leslie was tired, exhausted and spent, but the way he looked at her as he climbed again was intoxicating. It made her whimper and moan, made her fingers dig into her hair, made her palms press onto her breast. He sped up and came undone.

He yelled her name as he came and kept repeating it in husky whispers as he rolled his hips into hers. Leslie trailed her finger up and down his thigh until he collapsed onto his elbows on either side of her head. He kissed her just as thoroughly as he fucked her.

He rolled off of her but she followed, addicted to his lips. Her heart wouldn’t stop beating and that twisted, light feeling in her stomach wouldn’t fade. She pushed her leg between his and pressed their bodies flush. There was no need for space.

“What are we going to do?” Ben said into the pillow.

She kissed his chest.

“I don’t want to think about it. Not right now.”

They didn’t. They didn’t think, only touched. They didn’t speak, only kissed. They didn’t dream, only slept. Everything was gone, the world still had evaporated around them and it was still only them.

Until Leslie’s phone beeped at 4:52AM with one more assignment. The earth crashed down around them and the universe rebuilt and they were still partners, they were still assassins that were crossing ethical boundaries. She slipped out of bed and held the phone in her hands, staring at the little screen. Her feet dangled off the edge, not quite touching the ground.

Ben woke and stirred behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pressing his chest into her back. He kissed her ear, her neck, her hair. He whispered, “I love you” over and over again even though she never said it back, only feeling it in every pore in her skin.

This time it was her who asked, “What are we going to do?”

Ben shrugged, his lips stuck to her shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he said, defeated.

Leslie watched the lights that speckled New York City through the curtains.

“Before this, before you were an Agent, what did you want to be?” Leslie asked.

Ben crawled around her and kneeled in front of her.

“I don’t know, something boring like an accountant. When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut,” he said. “Why?”

“I just wanted to picture you as something else. A space man with a calculator.” She smiled but tears rolled down her face.

He wiped her cheeks with his thumb and pushed up to kiss her nose.

“You’re good at your job, Leslie.”

“I am,” she agreed. They both laughed. She sniffed and wiped her face. She put down the phone and raked her fingers through his hair, resting them on the nape of his neck. “I always wonder ‘what if, what if I was a senator, on my way to the presidency’?” She shook her head.

“A pants suit and a gun.”

“A blazer and a revolver.”

“A podium with a punch.”

They laughed again, the tears drying and tension falling. Leslie sighed and bent over, pushing her forehead to his.

“I’m proud of who I am,” she whispered.

Ben smiled and kissed her. “Then what else is there?”

Leslie closed her eyes and let everything pour over her and drip into the stiff carpet, into the soft mattress, onto Ben’s skin, and into the beyond.

“You.”


End file.
